


Father of Apples

by gabapple, ravyn_ashling



Series: NLAverse [11]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Backstory, Beka is a rat and motorcycles kind of guy, Canon Compliant, Dark Horse Zine, Gen, NLA Canon, Post-Series, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15007145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabapple/pseuds/gabapple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_ashling/pseuds/ravyn_ashling
Summary: Leo thinks that Otabek needs to find his zen. Beka's not so sure. But an excuse to take the bike up the coast with his pet rat Alma doesn't sound like such a bad idea...





	Father of Apples

**Author's Note:**

> **Gab here!** The title is like a... joke? Because Almaty can be translated as Father of Apples and Otabek's pat rat is named Alma and he's her Rat Dad and it's about him and his pet rat, so you see... it's a thing. :);;; Ahem.
> 
> Anyway, this was for the Dark Horse zine, which was an amazing project all about the life of Otabek Altin, whom I love and adore. I plan to write a LOT more about him later on (once NLA is done, probably?), but it was great to have an excuse to write about our favorite Kazakh hero sooner than later! 
> 
> I was also EXTREMELY fortunate to be able to work with the talented [@ravyn_ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_ashling/pseuds/ravyn_ashling) on this, who provided a gorgeous illustration for this piece in the zine. Please gaze upon this majesty: <http://ravynartling.tumblr.com/post/175129229872>

* * *

 

Leo (skate): hey we’re taking the boat out today  
Leo (skate): you’re invited  
Leo (skate): want to come?

With cellphone in one hand and a big yellow onion in the other, Otabek weighed his options, then picked the vegetable. Good golubtsy was meant to be taken seriously. Alma poked her head out from his jacket and sniffed, whiskers twitching, and looked up at her rat dad in suspicion.

“It’s just Leo,” he muttered. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s changed. Stay down.”

She disappeared, slipping back into the pouch in his jacket’s lining.

Once she was out of view, Otabek put the onion in his basket, then typed out a reply to his rinkmate.

Me: I have plans, thanks.  
Leo (skate): that’s cool, man. follow your bliss!  
Leo (skate): but we def need to go at least once before you leave  
Me: Sure.  
Leo (skate): don’t forget to take pics ;)

They looked for carrots next.

The farmer’s market was something Alma loved about Otabek’s weekend routine. It wasn’t the Green Market that he’d told her about in Almaty, but Santa Barbara had its share of fresh excitement. Garlic. Potatoes. Minced beef. Long grain rice. Cabbage. Beets. Fresh dill. Mushrooms. Apples.

Alma loved the apples especially. He’d named her after them, and his home of Almaty, the birthplace of all apples. When he spoke of home, he talked of tall mountains and wild trees, each with its own, distinct flavor and voice to discover. She hoped she’d live long enough to see them for herself.

When they finished at the market, they went home by foot to the house that they shared with Otabek’s homestay family. He dropped her off in her cage, but left the door open.

“Don’t forget that we’re going out today.”

She wouldn’t forget. Alma loved going out on the motorcycle.

As soon as he left, she curled up in Otabek’s Old Sock pile and fell asleep. He made and ate lunch, then came back for her, taking a slice of apple and tapped her on the head with it.

“Alma.”

She sniffed the air without opening her eyes, long, silver whiskers twitching.

“It’s a variety called Lady Alice, from Washington.”

He brought it in front of her nose and her eyes and mouth popped open. Once her paws reached out to snatch it, he gathered her into his palm and pulled her from the cage.

“What do you think?”

She took one bite and approved. It was sweet and crisp, but just tart enough to keep the balance she loved. Alma whittled away at the fruit while he carried her to the couch, setting her on a throw pillow to eat while he tuned his acoustic guitar. She loved this part of his routine, too. When Alma finished eating, she got to play while _he_ played. And her rat dad was really good at the music thing.

Otabek was somewhere in the bridge of Metallica’s _Enter Sandman_ when there was a knock at the door. Alma skidded to a stop, lolloping run almost sending her tail over nose. Otabek got up, scooped her from the floor and onto his shoulder, and answered the door with a serious ‘I hope you’re who I was expecting, please don’t ask about the rat’ face of pure neutrality before the hum of the strings even ceased their vibrations.

“Yo, Otabek!” It was Macario, one of Leo’s three older brothers, right on time. He held up a key- a very, very shiny key. “Take good care of her, remember what I taught you, and try not to have _too_ much fun or Leo’ll kill me, okay?”

“Thanks. I will.”

“And… hey, you could try to look a little excited about it. The rat is smiling more than you are.”

Alma stretched as far as she could, little paw hands grabbing at the air. The call of adventure- and the shiny key -was just too much to resist.

“Trust me, I…” Otabek tried to think of how to describe what he felt at that moment, what having the bike for his last three weeks in California meant to him, but nothing felt _right._ So he frowned, taking the key, which Alma pawed at, and said, “...am.”

Marcario laughed. “Yeah, I get you. Well I gotta run, Kelly’s waiting for me.”

“Thanks.”

“And don’t let Alma chew on the handlebars! I don’t trust her.”

The bike was a red and black Kawasaki Ninja 250R that Otabek had ridden many times. It was light and quick; perfect for the tight corners of urban streets. Although Alma didn’t get to go often, it reminded her of skating in a lot of ways. Only a lot more fun.

One day, Otabek would get his own bike, and it’d be something meant for the long haul; a BMW R 1200 RS, or a Ducati Multistrada. But today, with Alma snuggled back in the rat pouch, snacks for later, and a worn leather journal in the back compartment, the Ninja would do just fine.

The weather was was great- maybe even perfect by the standards of Southern California -and Otabek hugged the curves of Route 101 on the Ninja, merging with Highway 1. Ragged Point at the tip of Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park was his destination, and ‘finding zen,’ as Leo put it, was the goal.

Otabek didn’t get it. Alma didn’t, either.

Two and a half hours of gorgeous coastline and rat-napping later, the pair came to the gravel parking lot at the foot of a wooded cliff face. The lazy spiral of paired raptors overhead drew Otabek’s attention while threading his helmet through the handlebars, recalling the Kazakh austringers on their stallions. But these eagles, while golden, weren’t _his_ eagles, and he rode with an entirely different kind of horsepower.

He was still a long way from home.

Ragged Point was a tourist spot. There was a motel, restaurant, and convenience store... none of which needed to see Alma. Otabek browsed the restaurant’s menu for anything appetizing and came away with a reuben and a rat squirming to get out and investigate. “Stay.”

He took the nature trail, then cut across to where there was coastal access. It was there he found a place to settle cliffside, broke out the headphones, and a carrot stick for Alma.

She nibbled on her carrot, got bored, and hopped from one of Otabek’s legs to the other, back and forth, then went after the laces of his boots.

Otabek ate his sandwich.

A piece of corned beef started to slip, he tore it off and let Alma have it. His dogs in Almaty would have been all over that. They were Tobets; massive, fluffy things that he missed like crazy, and the reason he’d decided to get Alma in the first place.

She ate up the meat, scratched at her ear with a back paw, then raced up his sleeve to sit on his shoulder, peering down at his sandwich, begging. Not quite like his dogs, but close enough.

He broke off another piece and she took it in her little paws.

Neither of them said much after that, just content to be in each other’s company with the cool, salty air and the glitter of the ocean.

Alma pressed close to his neck, eyes closed against the wind. He rubbed under her chin with a knuckle and wrote in his journal. Deep thoughts, she guessed. He always had those. Otabek was a quiet young man, careful and deliberate. There had been many times when they’d been out and others had avoided him or shrunken from his gaze, like they were afraid of him, but she couldn’t understand why. She could relate, though. People and creatures did the same to her and her littermates. But not him.

Otabek was kind and strong. Brave.

A warrior.

When she saw him that day in the pet shop, wandering between the cages, she knew, she just _knew_ that he was who she needed to be with. And he’d felt it, too. It was something in his eyes.

“Do you feel zen, Alma?” he asked.

She nibbled on his ear.

“Let’s hit the road.”

 

*  * *

 

Saint Petersburg, Russia - three years later

_In the home of Lilia Baranovskaya_

 

“What’s with the jacket? You’re not leaving, are you?”

Otabek shrugged, his straight-lipped smile as impassive and amused as ever. Yuri was always worked up over the simplest things. “No.”

“Are you cold? I know we’re in Saint Petersburg, but it’s the middle of summer!”

“You invited me, so I’m here, but…” He laughed, then reached inside his jacket.

Yuri leaned closer, squinting. “But? But what?”

“I wanted to bring Alma, too.”

“Alma? What-” Yuri stopped short. “What is that? A ferret?”

“A rat.”

“Why the hell do you have a rat in your jacket?!”

“You have a cat in your lap.”

“Yeah, but Potya could eat your rat.”

The cat in question gave a lazy yawn, ears twitching as he lifted his head, paws stretching outward and tail giving an idle flick. Potya liked being talked about, at least when it meant being talked about _him._ He purred, dipping his head beneath Yuri’s fingertips.

Otabek pulled Alma out and set her in his palm. She immediately sat back and began to wash her face. “You might be surprised.”

“Peh. You want to find out, tough guy? Potya would destroy him.”

“Her.”

“Whatever. It’ll run and hide as soon as it sees Potya.” To prove it, Yuri scooped Pyota up and plopped next to Otabek, shoving the cat toward them both. “Look, Potya. What do you think of the rat? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t actually eat it.”

“Thanks,” said Otabek, unconcerned.

Alma stopped short at the fluffy new arrival. Her ears and whiskers went forward, eyes bright, and she sniffed the air. Cat friend. Excited, but cautious, she crept over Otabek’s hand and toward Potya, crawling over sleeve and pant leg, up to Yuri, reaching a tiny white paw hand to touch the chocolate-colored fur in front of her.

Potya, meanwhile, stared, frozen, with startled blue eyes, ears like pointed satellites and mouth in the tiny shape of _no._ As soon as they touched, his fur POOFED and he went from Yuri’s arms to Yuri’s head in an instant, hissing and spitting.

“Potya! What the hell?! Get down!”

Alma tried to climb after the cat, but Otabek pulled her off of Yuri’s hoodie. She was bruxing, grinding her teeth together in the way that rats did when they were happy. She was laughing at the cat.

He held her against his chest. “She’s not afraid of much.”

“What did she do to my cat?!”

“Nothing. Potya knows she’s a warrior.”


End file.
